Cailyder found it hard to concentrate. Her thoughts were with Maragarn and what she knew in her heart was a significant loss though Maragarn had not said as much. Rather, more telling, he said nothing. She heard the drone, could feel the ritual and its power coursing through the crowd but she was not in the moment of reverie. Although she found her distraction troublesome to her responsibilities as a fire warden and found difficulty in setting it aside, she knew she must. The great cycle can appear to be cruel Cailyder thought but she also knew there were no accidents. Maragarn, she believed, was chosen for a special purpose. He had more to learn. They all did.

She watched the path of the chromatic fires arcing over the grove begin to reach for her end of the grove. It was her charge to bring them to the Kossuth fire and complete The Circle. The Circle had so much meaning it was hard to fully grasp its ubiquity and meaning. It was a truth of reality that could overwhelm, inspire, frighten, and comfort one all at the same time. Cailyder felt honored this year, more than usual, to bring the circle to a close.

She pulled two fire clubs from her sides and approached Kossuth. Across the way she saw Varshya singing her hymn. To her left and right she saw Eswarth and Mirriam keeping the method of the rhythms. Joining everyone in common purpose was Bal-Jhor’s pervasive drone. Before her at Mahiya’s bonfire was Shankaria, Ashe, and Maragarn. She decided that while her part in this ritual was to honor Mahiya, this year it would be dedicated to her forest brother.

Cailyder looked at both clubs admiring their craft in beauty while she slipped the haftloops around her center fingers so they could freely spin. They were bronzewood clubs crowned with heads that took the dancing shape of fire itself. They had been used in this ritual for many years and she was honored to have been given them. She lit them in Kossuth and as she did her four deer-like hoofs began to tap. She tapped to the meter of Eswarth and Mirriam. Cailyder then began to swing the fiery clubs to the progression of Varshya’s song. It was time for Cailyder to bring it to a full circle.

The clubs flared out as bright, red hued torches and she slipped into the moment. Her hoofs forged their own “song” to blend perfectly with other parts of the ritual. If Eswarth and Mirriam were the rhythms then Varshya and Cailyder were the harmony and rhapsody. Cailyder spun the beacons around her weaving a web of fire. It was as though red wisps were dancing in joyous rapture around Cailyder. It was hard for even the most astute to follow the motions of her hands and arms as she spun the torches about her. It seemed at times that even the fire had difficulty in keeping up with the dance.

Her hoofs continued to keep their song and her torches their fiery orbits. As she spun the fire she twisted and turned her lithe form. At times she would jump into the air (which was slightly above Eswarth head) swinging the clubs underneath her to flip them back into the hand from whence they came. It was a magnificent display of passion and also the true skill of the revered hybsil.

The fire stream of Kossuth flowed as water from the bonfire and reached its red, flowing fingers to the fire streams of Grumbar and Akadi. Kossuth was pleased this day.

Humans, being so young and short-lived a race, were always a bit odd to Eswarth. But this particular human was far more so. He seemed so frightened and unsure of himself. So much seemed to make him twitch and twitter.

"Just about every place is holy to someone or other, but you are in a forest, young friend." Eswarth replied. "Nothing is more natural."

"We must talk, though, before we can decide on our course today...come join me when you're done." He instructed his young companion.

"Eh, yes," Charon seemed to fumble over his words as if talking to the centaur required effort. "I am … nowhere … ah, going nowhere, that is. Just over there to, um, relieve myself." He never met Elswarth's gaze for more than an instant. Charon always had a hard time speaking with the living but was usually able to suppress his discomfort. Something about these centaurs made him extra uneasy.

Charon froze in his tracks. He looked to the giant horse-man as a sudden realization came to him. "It is acceptable to do that here, yes?" Charon asked reluctantly. "This is not a … a holy place for you, is it?"

Charon seldom dreamed, but when he did he embraced them. Unfortunately he could only recall scraps of this morning's dream. He was at work in the morgue, of that he was certain. However, rather than working on a corpse it was he who was being worked on. The experience itself was not entirely unpleasant. It was the technique being used that distracted him, aggressive and unprofessional. Charon could not be sure, as his memory of the event was slipping away, but he thought it might have been one or both of the gargun he had been forced to work with earlier that was performing his embalming.

As Charon sat up he turned to check the ground beneath where he had been sleeping. As expected, the grass and other nearby plant life had yellowed and wilted slightly. He hoped his companions would not notice but suspected something like that was unlikely to go unnoticed with Eswarth. Charon quickly gathered his things and moved away from the faded greenery nearly fumbling Collinsworth in his haste. "Sorry, friend. Perhaps I should attach a strap? No, it would be a nice one. Fine leather. Maybe a nice green to go with your eyes … or the eyes you once had."

Balorie's visit had replayed itself in Eswarth's mind through much of the remainder of the night. His sleep had come in fits and starts...enough to let him get through the night, but not enough that he could call himself rested.

He stoked the small campfire back to proper flames and waited somewhat impatiently for Charon to wake up.

Charon woke from a troubled sleep, the taste of sleep thick in his mouth. The images from his dreams twisted into smoke becoming something less than even a memory. The morning was comfortable, the smell of earth and leaves on a light breeze. Waking on the forest floor was not something Charon was used to. There was a feeling of peace in the air among them that was not there before. He wondered if perhaps he just didn't notice it before.

Eswarth was already awake when his small companion began to stir. It was early still, the others continued to sleep soundly.